


One of These Days

by xxx_cat_xxx



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Blood, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hot Chocolate, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Irondad, Mission Fic, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Cries, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Running Away, Sickfic, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 22:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17837477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_cat_xxx/pseuds/xxx_cat_xxx
Summary: Peter stops only when the pain gets so bad that he can’t breathe anymore. Then he stumbles into the entryway of a house in a shady neighbourhood, presses himself into a corner and wraps his arms around his knees. It’s cold, and for a moment he longs for the suit’s integrated heater before remembering that these days are over now.---Tony gets injured and a guilt-ridden Peter runs away. Luckily, there´s people looking after both of them.





	One of These Days

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Peter running away" on [tumblr](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com/) .
> 
> This was rather tricky. It wasn´t the prompt, it was just me. I wrote a draft, then changed the storyline and deleted it all. I talked to a few people, changed the storyline again, and wrote about 2k words more than originally planned. Then amazing [whumphoarder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder) beta´d the hell out of it, for which I´m infinitely grateful. I hope that it´s sort of acceptable now.

Peter’s spider senses don’t even have time to warn him before the barrel of a gun presses hard into his temple. Tony is still in the middle of an angry lecture while simultaneously blasting a hole into the wall and relaying their status to the rest of the team, so Peter doesn’t blame him when he completely misses the incident.

“ - told you a million times that _no_ means _no_ , but of course Peter Parker has to know better and follow me inside when I explicitly told him not to, because he’s got years of experience fighting evil and -”

“Mr. Stark?”

“Don’t. Interrupt. Me. I have every right to be pissed at you -“

“Mr Stark.” This time it’s a much more feminine voice calling his name, and finally Tony turns his head around. “Step out of the suit.”

In a split second, Tony takes in Peter, the gun against his head, and the woman aiming it. The fingers of his right hand start to move, inconspicuously signalling his armour to do who-knows-what. But it seems their enemy caught the attempt as well.

“Get out of the suit,” she orders. ”Right now.”

“Okay, okay, Ms Trunchbull, no need to get aggressive,” Tony says. He orders the suit to open with a rough gesture before stepping out of it.

Tony is still wearing a Foo Fighters shirt with an oversized print of Dave Grohl’s face, paired with the sweatpants he was working in before the Avengers were called out for the mission, all of which would be funny to Peter if he wasn’t busy decidedly _not_ freaking out about the whole situation. He desperately wishes that the two seconds of warning Tony had were enough for him to do whatever is necessary to get them out of here, because Peter has fucked up big this time.

“Now,” the woman says, a bit of triumph playing into her otherwise calm tone, “make the suit come over to me. Slowly.”

“Not a fan of turning over my property,” Tony says. He’s playing for time, his eyes seeking Peter’s and signalling something urgently. _Be ready_ , Peter reads, and hopes with all he has that he’s right.

“Stark. I won’t wait any longer.”

The woman pushes the gun harder into Peter’s temple. He tries not to flinch, not to show how loud and fast his heart is beating inside his chest. But Tony picks it up, anyway—Peter can see the briefest moment of panic crossing his expression before it is replaced by determination. He gives the suit a signal and it slowly starts moving towards their captor. Peter holds his breath. Any second now, and -

“Down!” Tony shouts in the same moment that the suit blows up and all hell breaks loose.

The shockwave of the explosion hits Peter and throws him off his feet even before he has time to duck. He feels the gun going off more than he hears it, and this is when he is sure that he’s done for. _At least I died on a mission_ , he thinks as he drops, but it’s cold comfort, with nobody saved and nothing gained from dying in a stupid ambush.

But Peter doesn’t die. It’s worse.

There’s a choked inhale on his left, a muttered curse, and then Tony’s body hits the ground, limp and lifeless.

Peter’s brain skips. Suddenly he is kneeling next to the older man, bending over him, pressing his hands into Tony´s stomach where the bullet hit him. There’s blood all over his palms, thick and wet and too much, and he’s never known how bright the colour red can be.

*

The next thing he knows, he’s lying in a SHIELD medical van. May isn’t there. Tony isn’t there. He’s alone, the world is all wrong, and it is completely his fault.

Peter’s suit is pulled down to his waist, revealing a number of ugly bruises covering his torso. There’s a dull ache all over his body, an IV plugged into the back of his hand.

“… ran right into the trap.”

His enhanced hearing picks up someone talking into a phone just outside of the van. The voice is unfamiliar, but given the scenery, he’s pretty sure that it must be a SHIELD agent—a medic, maybe.

“Stark´s in surgery right now, they say there won´t be any lasting damage. Lucky bastard. We told them a million times that it’s silly to take a child on missions. But you know Stark, he’s even more stubborn than he is rich. Hope he learned his lesson.”

The realization that Tony made it through is dwarfed by the enormous wave of guilt that washes over Peter.

He doesn’t think when he stumbles down from the gurney and onto his feet. The IV is pulled out even before the dizziness in his head has settled. The suit follows next. He grabs an oversized SHIELD sweater from a hook where someone has left it and throws it on without caring how the sleeves dangle, empty, over his hands.

And then Peter runs.

*

Several of his ribs must have been broken in the explosion, as each pace is accompanied by a stab of agony around his chest, and there’s a burning kind of pain on his shins and forearms where the skin has been grazed. But it’s good. It gives him structure, distraction, something to mute his thoughts while he makes his way through the city, not caring about which direction he’s going and never looking back.

Peter stops only when the pain gets so bad that he can’t breathe anymore. Then he stumbles into the entryway of a house in a shady neighbourhood, presses himself into a corner and wraps his arms around his knees. It’s cold, and for a moment he longs for the suit’s integrated heater before remembering that these days are over now. That Tony will take the suit, again, and this time there won’t be any second chances. Peter is not even angry. He probably deserves far worse.

It’s hours later, when the cold starts to seep into his bones and he can’t stop trembling, that he starts to realize the gravity of the situation he’s brought on himself. He doesn’t have money, or even his phone. He definitely won’t be knocking on people’s doors at night and ask for help, not in boxers, not with blood still smeared all over his arms and legs.

The pain around his ribs hasn’t let up; they’re not healing as they should between the cold slowing him down and the hunger gnawing in his stomach. The ache and exhaustion are making him lightheaded.

He doesn’t realize when he lies down, but at some point, he finds himself curled up on the floor, biting his lips bloody in order to stop his teeth from chattering. He’s not sure if he could get up even if he wanted to. He’s not sure if he cares either. The last thought that comes before he passes out is whether he´ll at least be allowed to say good-bye to Karen.

*

It’s Bruce who finds him. He must have been trying to rouse him for a while, because there’s fear edged around his mouth and a hint of green on his neck when Peter opens his eyes.

“Finally.” He sighs with relief when Peter blearily glances up at him. “What on earth were you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Peter mutters. He shakes his head awake, then stops dizzily, but the world doesn’t cease spinning around him. The memories come back in a disorienting rush.

He closes his eyes again.

“No, you stay awake with me, Peter,” Bruce says with an urgency that somehow manages to get through the haziness clouding his thoughts. “Here, drink this.”

He presses a bottle of water into Peter’s hands. His fingers are numb, and half of it spills down onto his shirt while he tries to drink. The drops feel warm on his icy skin.

“Are you hurt?” Bruce asks.

“No,” Peter says without caring to check whether that’s true. Then, because he has to know, even if he’s scared of the reply, he asks, “Is Mr. Stark okay?”

“Yes, Peter. They had to do an emergency surgery, but he is stable now. He mistook me for Jarvis the first time he woke up, but once he’s thinking clearer he’ll want to know where you are. I’m glad I found you before he realized what’s going on, or else he’d probably go looking for you with IV bags trailing behind him.” Bruce chuckles a bit before he turns serious again. “We were all worried, kid, your aunt most of all.”

“May called you?”

Bruce nods. “She thought you’d spent the night at the compound, but when you didn’t message in the morning, she got nervous.”

“What did you tell her?” Peter asks, his voice trembling a bit.

“Well, Jarvis picked up your face on the security footage just before that. Otherwise we wouldn’t have had a choice but tell her the truth. Pepper told her that you were at training and will call her back once you’re done.” 

_Pepper lied for me_ , Peter thinks. He wouldn’t have thought it possible to feel even more guilty, but somehow it happens. It must have shown on his face, because Bruce’s expression softens visibly.

“Look, Peter. I’m not great at people stuff,” he admits. “You need someone else to talk to right now. But I promise that nobody is angry at you. Let’s get back to the compound, and you’ll see everything is alright.”

 _You can’t know_ , Peter thinks. _You weren’t there when I nearly got Tony killed. You weren’t there the last time he took the suit._

But he gets up all the same, steadying himself on the wall, and whispers back, “Okay.”

*

“Pepper made me promise not to crack any jokes that could potentially aggravate your guilt, but honestly, it’s so hard to resist right now.” Tony grins through half-lidded eyes.

Bruce has forced Peter to call and reassure May, shower, eat, and drink a litre of water before finally letting him see Tony. The engineer is propped up in a hospital bed, tubes and wires sticking out of him at odd places, and, in his own words, he’s high as a kite.

“You look like a sad puppy, kid,” he giggles, and Tony Stark giggling is definitely the weirdest thing Peter has seen this week, Ned’s YouTube history included. “Like those kids they use in aid commercials for orphanages.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say. He’d braced himself for a lot of things, but this is definitely not what he expected.

“But seriously? Leaving your suit and taking off?” Tony continues.

He’d barely been awake when Bruce had explained the situation, so Peter can’t help but admire that he even remembers their talk despite the mashed-up state his brain must be in from the post-surgery meds cocktail. “I understand that SHIELD medics are scary, and you’re definitely not the first one to bolt from a van, but that’s more a move I’d expect from Barton. Or myself.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Peter starts. “I just - “

“See? Told you he’s doing okay,” Bruce interrupts, opening the door with his shoulder since his hands are full between the two smoothies he’s carrying. He sets one on Tony’s nightstand and presses the other into Peter’s hand.

“So, how are you feeling?” he asks, facing Tony.

“’m good,” the man declares unconvincingly. He rubs his eyes with one hand and his face screws up in pain at the movement. “If I promise not to stand up too fast, can I get back to the workshop?”

“Sure,” Bruce snorts, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. He fiddles with the IV and Tony’s features relax visibly after a few moments. “Tell me, what is it you’re working on?”

“It’s top-secret, Brucie.” Tony frowns as if trying to concentrate, his eyelids drooping ever so slowly. “’m tired. Tell Dum-E…make some coffee…”

The rest of the sentence is lost as Tony’s eyes fall shut and his hand goes slack over his face. Bruce places it back down on the mattress with a gentleness Peter has never noticed about him before.

“You should get some rest, Peter,” Bruce says, turning back to him. “Your aunt is on the way, but knowing the rush hour traffic, she’ll take at least half an hour to get here.”

“Yeah,” Peter mutters. The realization that she left work early for him—because of him—adds another knot of guilt to his stomach. He doesn’t want to go out and face Pepper or the other Avengers. “Can I just sit here for a few minutes?”

“Sure.” Bruce gives him a once-over. “But promise that you’ll finish that smoothie.”

Peter nods. He waits until Bruce shuts the door before looking back at his mentor.

The hospital gown Tony is wearing has slipped out of position, exposing the large network of scars on his chest where the arc reactor had once been. It’s the first time Peter sees it up close. He thinks of the massive hole that must have been there in Tony’s body to create such a scar, and then thinks of the bullet that tore through him because of Peter’s stupidity.

Peter blinks and suddenly feels himself back on his knees, Tony’s blood soaking through his clothes. His stomach clenches. Peter swallows thickly, tasting the sandwich he had earlier at the back of his throat. He sets the smoothie down on the table as far as possible away from him.

There’s still blood under the fingernails of his right hand. He picks at it, but it won’t come off—just sticks to the nail of the other hand instead. Peter can feel his breaths speeding up, his chest going tight, and suddenly tears are streaming down his face.

He stumbles to the adjacent bathroom and lets himself sink onto the tiled floor. He hugs his legs to his chest and cries and cries and cries, over everyone he’d put in danger and everyone he couldn’t save.

There’s blood everywhere and air won’t reach his lungs. He’s sobbing, then choking, then gagging. Bile runs down his chin as his vision starts going black.

“Breathe, Peter, in and out,” a voice says firmly, and Peter tries. The first inhale does nothing to help him feel better. The second as least sends a bit of oxygen back to his brain. The third brings sick with it.

“Over the toilet,” Tony directs, pushing him towards the bowl. Peter bends over it and heaves up the remainders of a sandwich, the broken ribs screaming in pain, tears still running freely down his cheeks.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he chokes between retches.

“It’s alright, kid,” Tony replies, his hand steady on Peter’s back. “You’re okay.”

Peter is sure he isn’t, but at least he can breathe again, and the nausea is slowly letting up. He takes the glass of water Tony hands him and rinses his mouth.

“Now. If you think you’re done, we should consider moving back to the room. I’ve got approximately 18 seconds until I pass out, and I’d really, really, like to avoid doing so on these bathroom tiles.”

Peter looks up at Tony, who is standing, albeit barely, colour draining rapidly from his face.

“I’m sorry,“ he repeats, wiping his mouth roughly and getting up.

“Save it for later,” Tony says, his voice a bit shaky. He closes his eyes when Peter puts an arm around his mentor’s shoulders to support him back to the bed.

“Should I call a doctor?” Peter asks hesitantly.

“Nah, just - need a moment,” Tony says through gritted teeth. It’s evident that he’s hurting, but the last thing Peter is going to do is call for help against his will.

They sit on the edge of the mattress for a bit, Tony breathing deeply in an attempt to get the pain under control, Peter sniffling occasionally.

“Now, will you tell me what that little episode was about?” Tony asks. He takes a deep breath and finally opens his eyes.

“Nothing,” Peter says quickly. But he can still taste the bile at the back of his mouth - still feel the blood slick and warm on his fingers.

“Peter, “ Tony urges, “I’ve got a hole shot through me, I’m half-drugged up, and I’m definitely not a patient person on my best days. So please, let’s just skip to the part where I have consoled you enough that you open up to me and tell me why the hell you were gone the whole night and then had a breakdown in my bathroom.”

“It was all my fault,” he whispers, finally letting out the words that have been echoing in his head for a so long. He doesn’t look up at Tony. “I followed you into that building, and you got hurt because I screwed up.”

“Yeah, I already know that much,” Tony says flippantly. “So what?” He waves his hand in a casual gesture. “We are superheroes, or whatever you call that nowadays. Getting shot is an occupational hazard.”

“But…” Peter is at a loss for words. “I didn’t listen to you,” he says helplessly.

“And you certainly learned your lesson.” With a groan, Tony pulls his legs up on the hospital bed and lets himself sink back against the pillows. His words reverberate in Peter’s head and the memory of the medic saying the same line about Tony comes back to him.

“You’re-You’re still going to let me go on missions? You’re not gonna take the suit?” he asks, his heart beating fast, as if saying the words loud would make Tony change his mind immediately.

“The suit?” Tony gives a short laugh that turns into a hacked cough. “It’s not like you’d stop being Spider-Man if I take the suit away. And I wouldn’t want you to, either. The last thing we need is another vigilante roaming around the streets of New York. I’d rather be the one in control of your activities than watching you go underground.”

He grimaces painfully as he dabs a bit of blood from his lips. “Internal injuries, nothing to worry about,” he adds upon Peter’s alarmed gaze.

“You-You should probably -”

“You are not in any position to tell me what to do, young man,” Tony warns. “Just because I’m not going all Howard Stark on you doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed off. ”

“Yeah,” Peter breathes. “Okay.”

He knows that he should be relieved. And he is, sort of. But the guilt is still sitting hard and tight around his heart.

His thoughts are interrupted when Bruce comes back to tell him that May just arrived.

“You’re better now?” Tony asks when Peter hesitantly gets up from the mattress. The pain in his mentor’s eyes is duller, but he looks infinitely more tired.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter says.

“Good.” Tony is slurring a little now, his eyes fighting to stay open. “See you in the lab tomorrow.”

“In your dreams,” Bruce snorts. “You try again to get out of this bed in the next 48 hours and Pepper will lock down the suits for a month.”

“That’s not fair,” Tony protests weakly. Bruce hides a smile.

*

May still smells like hospital disinfectant, but she also smells like home.

“So, what happened?” she asks once they are sitting in the car. “The last time you had this look on your face was when you and Ned used up my perfume for a science experiment. And I’ve seen the news, so don’t tell me that it was _just a training weekend_.”

“I - Mr. Stark got hurt. Because of me,” Peter confesses. His voice sounds so, so small.

“I see,” May says. Then she doesn’t say anything for a while. And it’s good, because she doesn’t ask how he is feeling, or what he needs, or any other questions he can’t answer. She keeps an arm around him while Happy drops them back at the house, then nudges him into changing back to his own clothes and makes him the largest mug of hot chocolate he’s ever received in his life.

He’s sipping it when a bit of it drops on his pyjamas. It’s not red or even remotely resembling blood, but it’s enough to make the tears start all over again.

“I- I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he mumbles, wiping his eyes futilely.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” May says. “Sometimes the world can be too big, even for Spider-Man. It’s okay to be overwhelmed.”

She hugs him tightly, holds him close until the tears dry out.

“What, none of your genius superheroes thought of simply giving you a hug?” she teases, and he chuckles through the sobs.

He’s not alright, but then, nobody ever is. Especially not superheroes.


End file.
